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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123348">A scent I couldn't get out of my head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o'>o0_Kiyomitsu_0o</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Times we met but didn't know [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Childhood Memories, Drunk Tony Stark, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, How Do I Tag, Hydra is full of bastards, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Pepper Potts (mentioned) - Freeform, Tony is a horny drunk, Tony still tries to keep some order to things, Torture, Violence, both parties are on board, hurt/comfort/more hurt, the asset doesn't understand what's going on, the asset tries his best, the assets point of view</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:08:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A break-in to get wanted information went well, until it didn't anymore after running into someone, who is on the run from an unknown enemy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Times we met but didn't know [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A scent I couldn't get out of my head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, thanks for your interest in reading my story (^w^)</p><p>Before you continue, please note that I'm neither a native English- nor a native Russian-speaker nor a native Irish-speaker  aaaand I didn't have a Beta-reader to sort through my mistakes, so please excuse my grammar and my spelling.</p><p>I tried to throw in a bit of smutty-fun... not sure that's what it turned out to be, still I hope you enjoy your time here (^w^)7</p><p>Once again, no translations at the end (PwP)</p><p>Even if it doesn't look like it, I really love both character, I swear! At some point I want to see them happy...</p><p>If you notice anything, please let me know so I can correct it right away (n.n)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The asset had just finished his mission. Slipping down the glass facade of Galway’s bioscience-research centre, he had just broken in and out of. The black leather gear as well as the mask concealing him perfectly in the dark of the night. He had been woken up not even 24 hours ago in one of Hydras outer bases. The weak airflow running through the underground bunker had tasted salty as he was finally able to take the first breath again, the saline air causing his lungs to cramp momentarily and bile rose up his throat since his stomach was empty. Muscles and nerves trying to adjust and get into a fight or flight mode, because self-preservation was ingrained into the asset, if only to get missions done and avoid punishment, all the more after just being woken up and still trying to regain his orientation. He forced himself to move through the soreness the cold had left and got ready as quickly as possible. </p><p>His handler, one of Hydras scientists, had been standing in front of an over-dimensional screen, filled with patterns and formulas the asset hadn’t seen before. The tall man hadn’t even looked at the asst as he projected blueprints of a building, that looked like a laboratory on the screen over his head, giving him instructions on what to get and where to find it, all while continuing to type away in a neck-breaking speed. </p><p>The file was located in the inner laboratories on the upper floor, accessible through the vents, as far as the asset could follow his handler’s scientific descriptions, it was a file concerning an international breakthrough in clone-mechanism, that the research-group had presented in an international-science-magazine. Cloning seemingly something, that the branch the asset was serving now, was more than interested in. </p><p>He had taken a boat from the little island the base was stationed on, to cross over to the city docks, where he could hide the speedboat between the others, before sliding up and through the gathering crowd, that was getting ready to enjoy their after-work beer at one of the opening pubs. The baggy clothing, he was wearing over his tactical gear inconspicuous enough to find himself standing in front of his destination without one person as much as looking at him. </p><p>Mission finished, the asset stashed away the stick with data in one of the numerous pockets of his tactical gear, quickly returning to the small dead end between two campus-buildings, where he had left the backpack with his cover clothes. It was still perfectly hidden behind some trash bins, the only difference to when the asset had left it, was the loud music coming from the inside of the building to his right. He didn’t pay it any further attention. His mission was his only priority. His handler was waiting.</p><p>The asset pulled the black hoodie on as well as the base cap to conceal his face from any cameras that might catch him on the way. He put on the backpack as well and was about to jump the fence limiting the dead end, when a loud crashing sound at the alleys entrance, had his head snap back. </p><p>A drunk man half-running half-stumbling, came into the assets vision. Dazed eyes frantically looking around. The asset grabbed his backpack tighter, had he been spotted yet? Could he still slip away? Or did he have to eliminate the witness. The alley was quite in contrast to the campus, where party folks had started to gather, laughing and shouting through the night, the music a constant swell and dim every time a door swung open. </p><p>The asset took a step back, further into the shadows, since the swaying man still hadn’t shown any sign, that he was spotted. A group of screaming girls, one with a crown and pink bow ran past the narrow opening between the two houses. The thick Irish accent and the distance making it had for the asset to understand anything. ‘d’cha see ‘im Dais’?’ was answered by ‘Thought me saw’im run ‘ere…’ </p><p>He kept his gaze trained on the ally entrance. They were searching for something or rather someone. For the fraction of a moment, the asset thought it might even be him, but the thought disappeared just as quickly, when he saw the drunk man back further into the alley and with that closer towards the asset. </p><p>Him. They were searching for him. Another reason to hurry his retreat as long as he could get away unseen. Making one drank man disappear in a city was easy. A group of at least seven girls, if the penetrative, high voices the asset was able to differ from the rest of the commotion outside the alley were anything to go by, was heightening the risk of getting caught to the max. It wasn’t an option. The main goal of his mission was to bring the data back to his handler. He couldn’t compromise it by getting seen. </p><p>With a slow turn around the asset was trying to get a better stance for a jump over the small fence behind him, once he was on the other side the witness problem was resolved. He just needed to get away quick enough. One more step and… a high-pitched screech broth through the tense silence, when the asset stepped right on the tail of a cat, that had silently weaved its way through the trash bags without the assets notice. </p><p>The sound, that was followed by a red ball of fur scrambling up the fence immediately directed the short man’s attention to the sound’s origin and with that towards the asset as well. The other man stilled when his eyes found the asset, half hidden by the shadows of the alley. </p><p>The assets on the other hand, let his glove-covered metal hand slide behind his back, reaching for the knife hidden underneath the baggy hoody. The grip on the handle was tightening, as he calculated the distance towards his target as well as the angle, he would have to drive the knife into the drunk’s throat. Two steps, 126° to sever the voice chords and cut of the air supply. Immediate death would prevent unnecessary screams, that would draw more attention. </p><p>It was only a second the asset had taken to aim, but even this second had been too much, because more thickly accented voices were already starting to gather in front of the alleys entrance, he was cornered in. </p><p>‘Di’cha ‘ear tha?’ it was the same high-pitched voice that had passed the alley a few moments prior. The drunk seemed to recognize it as well, because he stumbled towards the asset, all open and uncoordinated in his movements. It would be easy to take him out and get away, one jump over the fence enough to disappear in the crowd of people strolling in and out of the building, where a party was held.</p><p>Plan in mind the asset focused on the other vital points as he pulled the knife out of the holster. Breath flattening, muscles tense. The asset was to make sure not to leave witnesses.</p><p>Unaware of his impending fate, the drunk tumbled forward, eyes trying to focus on the asset with mild success as far as the low light allowed the asset to see. Three more steps, two, one… the asset readied himself to strike, when the man passed the only dim stream of light breaking through the alley’s shadows.  The warm light of the streetlamp behind the fence the asset had planned to escape over, enveloped brown hair like a halo. The brunet looked directly at the asst, his dark eyes glowing up, like embers in a crackling fire. </p><p>The asset froze. The grip on the knife loosened. It was all the time the drunk man needed to close the remaining distance between him and the asset, tumbling right against his chest. The sudden impact ripped the asset out of his momentary stupor. Muscle memory forced into him through painful training sessions, made him grab the potential enemy, slamming him against the wall harshly, immobilizing him as much as possible.</p><p>With practiced ease the asset pinned sluggish arms over dishevelled brown hair, that might once have been a neat coif. The brown stray curls right underneath the assets nose, were making the actual height difference between them more than visible now. He mentally noted the advantage in case the other was trying to doge or fight back, which was unlikely because ungiving metal locked the panting man’s wrists in place just as the asset pressed his right forearm over the other shoulder and throat. </p><p>The sudden pressure on his torso caused a coughing fit, as all the air was pushed out of the brunet’s lungs. The asset eyed the slightly heaving man trying to catch his breath before leaning back a bit to allow him to take in a much-needed gulp of air. Why was he still waiting? It wouldn’t take much to crush his trachea. The drunk was in no state to seriously put up a fight, so why was he hesitating?</p><p>The shrill voices at the alleys entrance only deepening the assets frown. ‘Jess, me think me saw sum’thin…’ and in an almost sultry voice another woman added ‘Can’t run fr’m these pretty gals forever Tony, caney?’  A wince underneath his arm still holding the other in place turned his attention back towards the short man. An almost fearful look ghosted over the others face, wide eyes looking at the same direction the voices were coming from. </p><p>The asset tensed at the worried look, his flesh hand tightening into a fist, automatically preparing for the attack to come. The asset was surprised to find himself shift his stance, so his body was shielding the shivering man as much as possible. His left side was all open to any attack, the movement wasn’t the usual fighting protocol. The asset was to make sure to keep the damage to his body as minimal as possible, as to not compromise the mission by failure of his body systems and yet.</p><p>The asset felt the man underneath his grip press closer against him, the feeling of the others body flush against his own sending a shiver through the asset. A rash reaction he couldn’t see a cause for. He knew how to fight, even this close he could still crush the others wrists by closing his metal hand holding them in place, rendering the brunet incapacitated.  So why was his heart beating so fast? The asset shook his head to chase away unnecessary questions distracting him from imminent danger waiting for them at the end of the alley. He had to get out. He couldn’t risk the mission. Not when his handler had demanded an immediate return. </p><p>‘m’so’y, th’s my fault…’ the soft mumble caught the asset off guard, since he was trying to calculate the likeliness of the man underneath him being able to identify him, if asked. Alcohol was seeping out of every pore of the shorter man’s body, even if he had seen the asset, the level of toxin coursing through his bloodstream would likely rip a hole into his memories or at least obscuring them enough to make him an unreliable source.  </p><p>The asset leaned back a bit further to trace the other mans flushed face, what was he saying? The asset frowned at him, only causing the other to shrink into himself more, ‘I mi’t or mig.. might not h’ve gott’n a bit to dr’nk in th’re.’ half lolling his head towards the building, where the music was blurting out in full force now. ‘Ya, kn’w, spon… sorors get’n free drinks ‘n all…’ The asset didn’t know, what the other meant, but he knew the brunet was drunk, no question needed. ‘n I might… might… might’ve said..aid some un-nice thingys ‘s well…’ </p><p>The asset began to understand. Hydra didn’t tolerate critic, especially not from lower ranks. The asset was familiar with the procedure that would start, when someone disobeyed the rule. He would hunt them down, bring them back and remind them of their place, breaking a finger for every ill-spoken word. Had the target been especially talkative, he would proceed to tear out the teeth, ripping them out one after another until the target either passed out, none of them were left or his handler decided to end it. The target had seen broken men and women whimper in pain and yet begging the asset to spare their lives, asking him for mercy. He would wait for his handler to give the sign. His metal hand would close around their throats, until the windpipe broke and the gurgling sounds stopped all together.</p><p>The asset ignored the pictures his mind provided. He wasn’t here to execute. This man wasn’t his mission. The nervous fear shimmering in nearly black orbs was not for the asset and something about that thought made the asset feel warm inside. The brunet wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t screaming, wasn’t begging the asset to stop, instead he was suddenly looking up through long black lashes obscuring the faint ring of brown surrounding the intoxicated, blown pupils even more.</p><p>‘I’ve g’t n idea. They’ll nev’r fin’ us, bu’tcha have to come cl’ser.’, the man pressed against the wall half-whispered half-slurred, but the conviction in his voice was clearly audible. The asset eyed him critically, the brunet was clearly drunk and his judgment wasn’t reliable, but the number of potential witnesses was increasing, even if the exact number was impossible to gauge with the booming bass of the music and the shrill voices creating a cacophony of sounds, that made the assets head spin. </p><p>He forced himself to focus once again on the bright sparkling eyes looking up at him expectantly. His heart rate was accelerating at the sight. The asset attributed it to the imminent risk of losing his stealth advantage, that had guaranteed the missions success so far. At best the shorter man’s plan would work leaving the asset with minimum time delay, at worst, he would have to engage into combat, which would only cause unwanted attention. </p><p>The asset fixed the other with a hard glare, before giving him a quick nod. Whatever the other had planned he had to hurry, because he could already hear steps beginning to approach. </p><p>The shorter man’s voice vibrated with giddy excitement, the soft tremble humming right through the asset at their points of contact. ‘trus’me, I kno’wha I’m doin’.’</p><p>The asset didn’t trust the drunken man. He shouldn’t trust the brunet. The asset was trained not to trust anyone, had been taught the lesson through punishment every time his handlers thought he might have disobeyed, until he didn’t anymore. He had taught those lesson to a room full of children, who had looked at him with big trusting eyes, that had growing more wary of their surroundings, of everyone around them, with every training-session they had passed, with every time their trust was broken. </p><p>The last time he had seen them, they all knew a smile could hide daggers, a wave of hands might get you perforated a bullet, a wink could cut throats, a gentle touch would turn into bruises the moment you stopped paying attention just like a kiss transform into a knife stuck between your ribs. They knew, because they had seen it happening, had to do it themselves, because he had taught them how to do it, while never leaving your own guard down. The group had been smaller, than the one he had started with, but he knew only those, with greatest potential were to become part of Hydras widows. He had been nothing but a trainer, an instructor, the potential was scouted out by his handlers, he couldn’t do more, than give them the tools to avoid more suffering, than they already had to.</p><p>It shouldn’t even be something the asset thought about, because he knew better, but even through the soft slurs, something about that drunk-confidence, about that syrupy voice was familiar and the asset was running out of time. </p><p>With a deep breath to calm the rising unease of getting closer to someone, without anything to obscure his face, the asset leaned down. His hold on the other tightened to make sure he couldn’t move his arms and torso too much. They were close enough for the asset to feel hot puffs of air ghost over his skin, the sensation foreign and yet his heart breath was coming in shorter. He shouldn’t react so sensitively to humid air. Goosebumps were a sign for malfunctioning of his heat regulation. </p><p>The shiver, that followed nearly caused his arm to recalibrate. Something was wrong. The assets body was heating, but the steps on his right were getting closer, so he pushed the irritations to the back of his mind to focus on the imminent threat inching towards them. With a little shift the asset adjusted his stance, his covered metal arm, that was still pinning the slightly panting brunet to the wall, was blocking his face perfectly from whoever was approaching. He didn’t need to see them, because the steps echoed loud from the stone walls. </p><p>A squirming motion underneath his chin had the asset look down, the brunet seemingly sensing his approaching pursuer. So close, the others scent quickly filled the assets mind. Underneath the stench of sweat and alcohol that had been dominant so far, something else began to break through. Oil, coffee as well as a metallic pinch. It was an eerie familiar mixture.</p><p>The asset was unconsciously leaning in to get a better whiff of the scent, pressing flush against the shorter man, closing even the last bit of distance, that had been between them. The baggy material of the asset’s hoody hiding the shorter man almost completely in the cocoon of black fabric, sans the slack-clad legs. He could feel the erratic breathing of the shorter man against his neck, that tickled over his skin. The warmth between them steadily seeping and spreading through the assets body, making it hard to concentrate on anything except their points of contact. </p><p>The scent of coffee, metal and something he couldn’t quite place… why did he had the feeling like he should know it. Hydras rooms always had a stale stench filling the air, the metallic scent more often than not stemming from red puddles of blood dripping down gadgetries, the asset had learned to fear. More often than he dreaded to recall, he had been stripped down for the scientists to cut and probe at his arm and skin and muscles, severing and reattaching nerves from the metal, the anaesthesia getting interrupted when to much blood was lost and they needed him conscious to see, if he was still breathing. </p><p>A wave of ice-cold panic rushed through him, the usual ache of his arm, where it joined the flesh of his remaining shoulder suddenly amplifying at the whisk of a memory, the phantom pain nearly unbearable.  The asset leaned heavily against the wall, bracketing the short brunet between his heaving body and the rough stone-wall. The others scent beneath his nose so very different. Sweet. Calming. Familiar.</p><p>It pulled at the asset’s chest, a blurry image of a garage filled with old cars tried to manifest, a woman was calling out to the man working at a motor. The scent of coffee and oil filled the space. The woman was winking at the asset. She placed the cup in the tall man’s hand, his face smeared with oil. She kneeled down, her flowery dress swaying in the warm summer air. Kind, sky-blue eyes framed by long curls were smiling at the asset, as she unfolded her arms in a welcoming gesture. She was talking. Was she talking to him? What was she saying? He couldn’t hear her. The man was talking too, placing a soft kiss on the woman’s shimmering hair. Why could the asset feel himself moving? He was running towards them, but his steps felt wrong and uncoordinated. The scent of coffee grew stronger the closer he got and suddenly he was wrapped in arms that shouldn’t have been so wide, that shouldn’t be able to lift the asset so easily between the couple, that was smiling at him so fondly. </p><p>A shrill war-cry ripped through the hazy scene, pulling the asset back into the narrow alley he was still standing in. Tears were starting to cloud his vision. Who was that couple? The assets hold on the brunet’s hand weakened, but instead of ripping them free immediately, he felt the shorter man wriggle one out, leaving the other in place without any resistance, before cupping the assets face with similar tenderness, the oil-stained man had shown towards the smiling woman. </p><p>The touch was warm, gentle, careful as if the asset would break any moment, which couldn’t be far from truth, because his body felt heavy and sore. For a moment the asset wondered what would happen, if he allowed his body to give out, allowed himself to sink against the warmth the man, gently brushing the pad of his thumb over his cheek was providing. It felt so nice and he was so tired.</p><p>Another loud shrieking argument suddenly snapped the asset back, reminding him of his current situation. He straightened up again, shaking his head to regain his focus. He couldn’t dell any longer, he had to complete his mission or he would be facing the consequences. The calloused hand disappeared from the asset’s cheek, and it made his stomach pinch, but the argument within the group of the brunet’s pursuers had come to an end and the leading operator was already stomping towards the shadowy spot they were hiding in. The asset could hear the rage-filled huffs getting closer. </p><p>He tensed, his body far from his usual fighting condition, which was reducing the success during hand-to-hand combat, the knife had fallen to the ground, the gun difficult to aim from his position. He looked down at the other, whatever the brunet was planning he should start to do it soon, if he wanted to avoid the whole group the follow their leader. </p><p>His questioning gaze was met by a mischievous drunk glint, dancing through the man’s nearly black orbs. It should have made the asset suspicious, because the shorter man wasn’t showing any sign of readying himself for confrontation, or doing anything else the like. The asset still couldn’t gauge his opponent’s fighting capabilities, which was creating an uncalculated risk, but instead of trying to find the safest route to escape, the asset felt more heat pool in the pit of his stomach, that had his mind go blank for a second as the shorter man gave him a playful wink.</p><p>The untimely reaction made the asset frown. What was going on? The soreness of moments ago was getting replaced by burning feeling with every passing moment the asset was looking at the man pressed flushed against him. Why was body heating up, he hadn’t engrossed into combat yet? Their points of contact were still separated by numerous layers of fabric. There shouldn’t be as much heat exchange as it seemed to be happening. </p><p>The brunet, let this free hand slide down the asset’s chest, over his side and back up behind his back until it settled on the assets right shoulder, pulling him closer. Nearly back eyes gave the alleys entrance a quick glance before refocusing on the asset, meeting his gaze head on. Another wink was all the warning the asset got before his hearing was filled with overly exasperated breathy moan, that had the asset nearly rear back in surprise, but grip on his shoulder tightened to keep him in place, just as a leg hooked around the asses right thigh, effectively indicating to not leave his position. </p><p>‘Ahhh… c’me on, mov’a bit, make it look real, so she leaves… mhhn… yes… more…’ The whispered command nearly getting drowned out by the lust-filled pants suddenly ringing through the asset’s ears. His mind blanked for a moment, but something about this turn of events was familiar to him. The asset froze. He knew this. The widows had been trained for situations like this by another instructor. Public display of affection would make people uncomfortable and even avert their attention to anything else but the scene in front of them.  </p><p>The asset began to regain at least some of his footing by doing what he was trained to do. Follow the learned orders and procedures. Seeing through the shorter man’s plan, he bent his knee, so the other was practically sitting on the asset’s thigh, which elicited another loud satisfied moan from the smaller body holding on to him just a bit tighter. The asset was mildly impressed by the quick wit of the drunk, to go with such a diversionary manoeuvre. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, the asset could see the determined movement marching towards them suddenly still. He could hear a surprised grasp followed by a hurried scramble backwards and a hastily yapped out, ‘m sor’y lads...’ before making her hasty retreat to the rest of the group.</p><p>For moment the air was silence except for the still droning beat of the music from inside and the brunet’s soft pants. It broke when the leader informed the rest of her troop of their supposed mistake, which caused a cacophony of squeals and whistling to break loose, before the asset heard the pulk resume their search for the man, that was actually pinned between the asset and the brick wall.</p><p>The asset strained his ears, following the shrill voiced until they finally disappeared in the bustling noises of the party folks gathering on the campus ground. A strained whimper drew his attention to the man still holding on to him tightly. Had he not realized the threat was gone? No, the unnecessary loud moans and chants had died down right after the woman hast stumbled away. So why was the shorter brunet still squirming against the assets leg?</p><p> He was about to step back, which made the other whine unhappily. ‘Noooo, don’let go, y’feel so good.’ the drunk panted as he pressed down some more, keening at the self-inflicted pressure. The asset stopped in his motion. Why was he waiting? He needed to hurry up and get the mission done.  His handler was waiting and his body systems seemed to fail more and more. There was an indefinite tug at his chest that kept him in place. Heat started to pool below his waistband. Was it the brunet? Why was this man holding on to the asset so desperately? Was the other experiencing the same malfunctions as himself? </p><p>The ragged sound of the others husky voice only amplifying the unfamiliar feeling, that was putting the asset into a state of high alert just as much as it was making him feel mushy with every jerky move of the brunet. If the other man was the cause impeding the assets full operating condition, he had to retreat to mid-range and eliminate the treat to the mission. </p><p>The thought made his stomach churn and he hesitated. Why was his body reacting so strongly, when it came to the other? Why did he had this eerie feeling of familiarity linger in the back of his mind? His thoughts came to an abrupt halt, when the body holding on to him shifted a bit, so he could burry his face in the crook of the assets neck. </p><p>The asset tensed, ready to jump back and get a grab on the gun hidden underneath the hoodies soft fabric. The shorter brunet was nuzzling along the small patch of visible skin, taking in the assets scent not unlike he had done earlier. ‘s’good. Love y’r scent. L’ke fine leather’n metal…’ the slurred words were mouthed along the assets flushed neck. He didn’t dare to move fear and mortification raging war inside him. Had the other discovered his tac-gear? But his movements hadn’t changed yet. No indication of his cover being blown. On the contrary, the man seemed to fall more and more for it, because the asset felt soft lips suddenly pressing along his neck. ‘wish I’ve met’ya ea’lier… stupid drinks obs’… obscu’rin this han’s’m face…’ each syllable was followed by a heavy pant, that created a warm moist spot right where the others parted lips rested against the assets skin. </p><p>Without realizing he was doing so, the asset released the one hand still pinned to the wall, in favour of gathering the slightly shaking man in his arms and holding him close. It felt good. The warmth spreading through the asset was different from the one, the blurry scene he had seen before, the woman gathering him had been warm like a soft blanket where the brunets touch was causing the asset to burn in a way he hadn’t felt before.</p><p>He didn’t know what to do, so the asset mimicked the motion of the other, nuzzling into the dishevelled strands of hair, which had the short man moan out in earnest pleasure. He let the lighter brunet press down against his leg, while he tightened his embrace around the others lean body. When was the last time he had held on to someone? He took in a deep shaky breath, capturing the weirdly familiar and yet different scent, that weaved its way through the assets mind like a passing breeze. Why couldn’t he remember? </p><p>The asset wanted to frown, but the other was making soft mewling sounds, that had the asset heat up again, so he closed his eyes, leaving the question for later to answer in favour of concentrating on the other, his desperate gasps and pleasure-filled moans.</p><p>The moment the steady rocking movement against the assets body began to lose its rhythm the brunet leaned back a bit, far enough so the asset could see the bright flush on the others face. ‘go out with me.’ The question was the first phrase the other had formed clearly, and it had taken obviously more than a bit will power to do so, because the brunet was panting hard, big brown eyes looking at the asset pleadingly. ‘s mig’not seem l’ke it, but I’m no hit’n run kinda guy, wanna keep that date-kiss-fuck-order… cr'ss m'heart, lem'me show you’. </p><p>Once again, the asset found himself blank. Where did the man want to go? The asset couldn’t, he had to return. And who did the swaying brunet hit? The asset didn’t understand, but the shorter man was looking at him with wide hopeful eyes and the asset had seen it before, this glimmer of anticipation, it was so beautiful.</p><p>The asset didn’t know he was nodding before he could stop himself, but it didn’t matter because suddenly soft lips crash against his own and the asset could feel his head start to spin. He held on to the smaller body trying to get even closer. With a soft gasp the other stilled, the grip on the asset’s clothes getting impossible tight. He didn’t dare to move as the other was trying to catch his breath, before he suddenly went lax in the asset’s arms.</p><p>The asset felt panic rise up his spine, a horrible picture of a spine crushed underneath his arms tightened grip flashing before his eyes. He let his right hand trail down the others torso and ribcage. No fractures. The asset let out a shaky breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. The brunet huffed out a slightly strangled groan, before a mop of half-curled hair slumped forward leaning against the asset’s chest. Shimmering chestnut eyes were shut and even in the dark the asset could make out a faint blush covering the others face up to the tips of his ears. </p><p>The picture made the assets heart rate speed up and something else inside his chest was starting to flutter as he took in the satisfied smile tugging on the shorter man’s lush lips. The asset paused. For the first time he let himself wonder. Would he be able to leave Hydra? Run and disappear? Would he be able to get away? He stopped his track of thoughts. Where would he run, where Hydra wouldn’t find him? He was a hunter, to bring back and eliminate subjects, that had as much as harboured those thoughts, and he wasn’t the only one. They would send more. They would find him and they would drag him back into the scientist’s lab, strapping him back into the chair, recalibrating him until the asset was nothing but a puppet of his handlers, removing the last bit of freedom had claimed for himself. He was created to fulfil Hydras missions, they were his purpose, and if he did good, he would be left alone with, the few memories he had gathered. The clouds in the sky. The white of fresh fallen snow, the breeze of the wind. They would take it from him and he couldn’t do anything against it. </p><p>The realization hurt, and it made the truth all the more prominent. Caught in his mind the asst didn’t notice the weight of the brunet in his arms getting heavier with every passing minute, until the grip on the asset’s clothes disappeared and the shorter man dropped against him, making the asset the only thing holding him upright. </p><p>He was still breathing, steady and slow. The asset let the sleeping body down until he was somehow seated on the dirty ground. The arms falling limply to the softly heaving man’s sides. </p><p>The mission was not going as planned. The delay of his return was starting to get noticeable. His handler would not be pleased. He had to hurry, the asset noted mentally as he took up the lost knife again. No proofs, no witnesses. </p><p>The asset tightened his grip in the knifes handle, the razor-sharp blade pressed against soft skin quickly forming a thin red line. It was something the asset was familiar with, the movement honed and perfected each time the asset had gotten the order. </p><p>He knew why he had to do it and he knew how it was done, so why was his hand not moving? He stared at the point where the metal began to break skin. The rhythm of the brunet’s chest sinking and rising again hadn’t changed. The man wasn’t even aware of what was about to happen, a mercy only few of the asset’s targets or casualties had gotten, so why? Why was his hand trembling? Why couldn’t he bring himself to do as he was trained for? </p><p>A drop of water landed on the softly snoring man’s cheek, the wetness making him frown and shift around, until his face was once again illuminated by the streetlamps golden light. </p><p>For the first time that evening the asset was able to take in the others features completely. Dishevelled chestnut coloured hair, tanned skin covered in laugh- and worry-lines in equal measures. Single silver shimmering hairs at his temples and the peculiarly styled goatee, that was oddly fitting, giving the sleeping man a refined look. The scent of metal, coffee and… ozone making the assets breath hitch. He knew that scent. The asset felt something in the back of his mind stir, like it was trying to wake up but couldn’t. Like it wanted to remember where nothing was left but vague feelings. </p><p>The asset shook his head in desperation, he couldn’t wait any longer, he had to return and complete the mission or there would be nothing left at all for him. It was only then, that he realized his vision had become blurry and tears were falling down, creating a spotty pattern on the others dress shirt.</p><p>Another female voice broke the asset out of his mind. The voice sounded worried, calling a name aver and over again. Her heels clicked against the pavement, but paused, just before she had completely passed the alley. ‘Tony?’ </p><p>The brunet let out a soft groan, which caused the heels to change their directions towards were the asset was still kneeling, slowly carefully tipping closer. He quickly pushed himself up, which made the half-sleeping man huff out unhappily as soon as the last point of contact was lost. The asset willed himself to ignore the twist the soft sound caused in his stomach. He didn’t have time to linger, but he allowed himself a last glance at the gently heaving form.  </p><p>He took in the rise and fall of the others chest. A soft blueish hue underneath the thin fabric stopped the assets quick once-over abruptly. This light... he had seen it before. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt, paralyzing the asset as hazy pictures of torn clothes, slumped in a dark cave and gentle brown eyes looking at him filled his mind. </p><p>The click of heels tore him out of his stupor. The asset hadn’t noticed his body was moving until he had long since bolted over the fence at the end of the alley. Ignoring his handlers command would bring sever consequences, but the asset couldn’t have done it. He couldn’t kill the man. He didn’t understand why. His mind was a patchwork quilt of memories trying to fit themself together single pictures popping up before his inner eye. A broken man curling close to him. A young boy holding his hand. A glowing blue glowing light on a dark balcony. They didn’t fit together, the asset couldn’t assign them to anything he knew, but all of them only worsened the nauseating feeling he got at the thought of the brunet’s eyes staring back at him lifeless. </p><p>He ran through the night. Every step bringing him closer to the dock where the boat was anchored. For a minuscule moment the asset imagined himself running away, but where else would he go? Hydra was the only thing he knew. He was their fist, their tool to be used and Hydra was everywhere. They would find him and make sure he would never get a chance to run again. For the second time that evening, he felt the crushing weight of the undeniable truth.</p><p>He returned to the base, where the asset made his report, delivering the hard-drive. To his relieve his handler attention immediately diverted to the piece of metal, hungry to get his hands on the stolen data. He didn’t comment on the delay, didn’t even look at the asset before dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. The asset was led away by two agents. </p><p>They were halfway out the room, when the lab-coated handler let out an aggravated howl. The asset as well as the agents turned around to see the thin man curs at the display in front of him. No one dared to move, but the moment his handler turned towards the group standing at the door, the asset felt his body tense. Sheer cold fury was directed at them, even making the agents step back just enough to have the asset in the centre of the scientist’s rage. </p><p>With a few long strides the furious man crossed the distance between them. The bony fist colliding with the asset’s cheek packed more of a punch, then the asset had calculated based in the man’s appearance, causing his head to snap to the side. ‘fucking piece of shit, coding the stick with fucking Stark Int., fucking bastard...’ every word was accentuated with another punch, whereas the asset didn’t understand whether his handler was making him responsible for the code or just taking out the anger on him. Either way the asset was to stand still and take it, he knew better than to show open defiance.</p><p>By the time his handler had cooled down and the onslaught of fists and boots colliding with the assets body stopped, he was slumped down on the floor, the third direct hit to his spleen had him double over, the kick to his kneecap made his leg buckle, the other soon to follow. </p><p>The black-eye on his left beginning to form, narrowed his vision, but the asset still caught sight of the flickering screen, where a little animated drawing of a man adorned with that peculiar goatee the asset had seen earlier, was winking every time a speech bubble popped up, telling the reader the program was double SI-secured, needing the twelve-digit code as well as a Stark-registered access authorization to proceed.</p><p>The asset tried to recall the mischievous glint, that had accompanied the brunets wink back in the alley. He decided that the real one was prettier. The asset would have huffed out at the realization, but after more direct its to the head than he had ever suffered during training, the smallest muscle contraction was making it impossible to move without causing the swellings to flare up in pain.</p><p>His handler had stepped back towards his table, leaning against the work desk. He eyed the asset in unmasked disgust, thin fingers tapping on the metal surface impatiently, white knuckles smeared with the assets blood. The metallic clank cut through the otherwise silent room. With a sudden snap the gangly man shot up again up again, causing the asset to wince involuntarily. </p><p>The hard drive was pulled out of the computer and thrown into the asset’s direction. It stopped a few inches away from his face and the handler watched it for another long moment, before he took the gun resting on the table and shoot the drive. The metal exploded into tiny pieces and bits, hitting the asset directly. The asset didn’t care. He had fulfilled his mission. He would be put back into his cell to heal. They would leave him alone until the next mission was due, but until then he could let his mind wander back to a warm body pressed against his, and soft brown eyes looking at him like time had frozen just for them. </p><p>‘delete all the footage of this operation. Wipe him. If you lose as much as a word about it you will follow his example.’ His handler jerked his chin into the asset’s direction. </p><p>The command had cold fear claw at the assets mind. No, no they couldn’t do that. He had fulfilled his mission; he had delivered the drive. He didn’t want to forget, not after he had just gotten a chance to close some of the gaps his memories were. He didn’t want to forget those lively brown eyes looking at him. He had done as told. They couldn’t punish him when he fulfilled his duty. </p><p>The asset felt tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes, as he voices in his mind was screaming and begging for him to run, to fight, to get out, but he couldn’t. Where would he go? Where could he go where Hydra wouldn’t find him? The haunting questions ran through his mind in a continuous loop, paralyzing him in his fear.</p><p>One of the agents poked him with the barrel of the gun. The asset didn’t move. He couldn’t muster the strength as his body suddenly felt like it was made of lead. The handler flicked his wrist, and the asset was jerked up and dragged away. He tried to struggle as much as his fear-stiffened muscles would allow him to, but broken bones and angry red bruises blooming already only made the rising panic worse. </p><p>They strapped him into the metal construction, pushing a mouthguard between the asset’s teeth. He bit down at the small mercy, maybe this was his reward? The round piece of rubber clenched between his teeth to relive the ache in his battered jaw.</p><p>The metal closed around his head. The taste of old rubber filled the assets mouth, but instead of bringing some relief, all it did was reminding him of what he was about to lose.</p><p>The last thought crossing through the assets mind, was the realization, that he would rather sit a thousand times through the inevitable pain, that was about to come, than forgetting those kind brown eyes and the gently smile that seemed to light the room for once more day of his life. </p><p>They didn’t give him the time to fully grasp the irony of that thought, because the metal buzzed to light and the sudden bolt of electricity had him bite through the rubbery illusion of relive, that wasn’t to come until his mind was blank and his vision blacked out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still some little notes, actually more of a big thank you to all of you reading my pieces.<br/>I want to let you know, that I'm happy about ever single one of your comments, kudos and reads. </p><p>I'm looking forward to see you at the next part.</p><p>xxx Kiyo xxx<br/>\(^w^)/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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